


Fish Out of Water

by fluffy_papaya



Series: Scattered [2]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Its implied he killed a raid, Mild references to violence, The aftermath of the ocean, but no explicit details I’m too tired for that, everything sucks and he’s miserable!, fishpulse’s first time on land!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_papaya/pseuds/fluffy_papaya
Summary: And something in Impulse shatters.
Series: Scattered [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082057
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Fish Out of Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadeSwift99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeSwift99/gifts).



The sand crumbles under his hands, getting underneath his nails and burning at the raw scrapes on his knuckles where he had dragged himself out of that temple. Water laps at his feet, but he can't bring himself to care.

He grabs a fistful of sand- lifts his arm as far as his weak muscles will allow him, and lets the sand blow away in the gentle wind of the night. Everything up here seems softer, kinder, and his lungs burn with misery.

Impulse sighs, and passes out in the sand.

He supposes it’s an apology from their world, waking up with no mobs around him, but he can’t bring himself to care too much, simply rising to his feet with a groan.

His muscles still ache, and so do his lungs- maybe he breathed sand in while he slept, the grating feeling in his chest certainly seems to point to that.

Impulse didn’t look around before he crashed, but he does now, in the almost-too-bright sun that beats down on him.

He slinks back into the water, sitting himself criss-cross and staring at the looming jungle trees before him. There’s a good strip of beach, maybe about fifteen meters wide, separating him and the jungle, and Impulse stares longingly at dry land.

If only he could convince his legs to move themselves there.

But they still hurt- from the swimming, Impulse tells himself, they hurt from the swimming and not the sheen of scales he can see peeking out from under his pants leg.

Whatever the reason, he sits in the water for half the day, barely moving until his stomach urges him to do so, and he’s struck with a dagger of fear right in his back- if he starves, he’ll be back under the waves.

It’s more than enough to force his stupid legs to stand, and Impulse is somewhat grateful his pants legs fall so he can’t see the teal scales.

But it’s no sooner than he stands than the patrol rounds the corner. Illagers, wielding their crossbows and banners, grey skin slick with sweat he can see-  _ smell _ \- even from 30 meters away.

The patrol stops when they see him.

And something in Impulse  _ shatters _ .

He blinks, teeth bared- he’s standing on the beach, hands out in front of him- he quickly brings them closer to his chest, confusion and fear making him shake when he realizes his hands are wet.

But not with water.

It takes every bit of his focus to not puke, but Impulse turns his gaze from his bloodstained hands to the beach around him.

There’s… imprints, in the sand. Small and large divots, stray arrows, and a broken crossbow.

He looks a little further.

Hoofprints, where the sand met the jungle mud. Legs enough to only be a ravager, and Impulse’s stomach twists itself into all sorts of knots when he sees the torn saddle.

And there, buried half in the dirt, is a totem of undying. It’s chipped, ever so slightly, but it works- Impulse can feel that graveyard chill each totem gives off as he stumbles over to it, falling into a crouch to pick it up.

He can’t focus on his hands, but he focuses on the gold, the little red gemstones, and nods to himself.

He won’t be going back to the temple. Not if he can help it.

He’s going to find his friends.

(And he hopes they can forgive him for whatever he’s become.)

**Author's Note:**

> [karate kicks writers block in it’s stupid ankles] HEY uh enjoy this? maybe off two where he does actually find his friends coming tomorrow night?  
> bruh idk I’m really just enjoying writing without worrying about word count or quality, it’s pretty relaxing tbh.   
> need something added to the tags? let me know!  
> don’t need anything? let me know what you thought!


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